


The Elegant and the Horny

by mochaangel



Category: Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: F/M, Musicalbabes, musical reverse au, reverse au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:14:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24998149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mochaangel/pseuds/mochaangel
Summary: BJ had moved to a new house, in a new state away from all his problems of the city. A great reason to turn his life around and finally start a peaceful life in the small town of Winter Rivers. Of course, that would require a sense of self preservation and control he had no real urge to start practicing. Not when his dilapidated mansion came with a sexy little surprise inside. If only the universe would do him a favour and finally make his life like the porno he deserved.
Relationships: Beetlejuice/Lydia Deetz
Comments: 17
Kudos: 70





	1. First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> This is an au I made and the fic following is purely self-indulgence. I have no idea if I'm going to finish it but I really wanted to get some main points and ideas in before I lose em.

It began with a deed.

Old and crumpled, if not for the suffering attempts of preservation made by the bank to keep it in one piece. He really didn’t know why they made a fuss about it when it was gonna end up in his hands anyway. BJ Shoved the dollar-store frame an old bank teller had handed him into his knapsack and rummaged around inside until he found the key they gave him too. BJ rammed it through the dust-clogged door lock and jimmied the handle just a bit till he heard a click. 

BJ officially owned a house. Well, not just a house, a huge old American mansion, in a bougie neighborhood with a tall picket fence overlooking the little town of Winter Rivers. Not that it mattered how scenic the view was when the mansion was held together by its rusty old hinges. 

The paint was peeling and brick only beginning to fall apart on itself. The shingles were black with dirt and ivy and weeds seeped angrily between the moldy wooden cracks. Gravity seemed to be keeping the house together and pulling it apart at the same time, so one would think this would make BJ a little more careful opening the already splintering door. 

_Crash!_

Of course BJ didn’t really care as long as there was a roof over his head and a bathtub connected to the pipes. 

“Jesus, did the town hire maids for this dump?”

Despite its exterior, the inside of the house was almost godly the way the floors and hardwood tables glowed in the afternoon light. Barely any dust floated in the rays beaming in through the windows and just taking one breath in of clean and clear air shocked BJ more than a fit of hacking coughs would have if the air was grimy or sat stagnant in its own old age. And by all means it should have, he really did not expect his boots to leave marks on pristine floors when this house was allegedly abandoned years ago. 

“ A’ least I don’t gotta wipe down the place with a rag.” BJ swiped a finger slowly over the grey tarps covering the furniture -- some sort of ornate arm chair if he was looking at the carved and curvy legs beneath the cloth correctly-- that looked unmoved for the most part but just as spotless as the rest of the house. Actually, it seemed freshly brushed of the day’s dust and dirt.

BJ wondered if the chair could be bought off at a good price. He began to peel the tarp away to take an eye-full of his new cash-grab before the faint sound of chimes twinkled overhead and his eyes shifted to the railing of the top of the staircase. What registered as movement caught his eye but no sound came from it and BJ had to argue if that was something real he saw or if he really did eat a fourth weed brownie after his third, or a fifth after his fourth.

But the sound was real, in fact it got louder and more vivid, with an old tune that would be catchy and soothing if not played a little off key every other note or so. He was tempted to climb the stairs before the echoing creak of his foot hitting the staircase reminded him of his main goal and he swerved himself down the hall near the back of the house. And while he knew it was his focus shifting, he was unnerved by the distinct sound of music dimming on his departure and he felt himself forgetting the simple tune that was playing almost a second ago. That’s what he gets for doubling up on weed and ketamine.

Leading himself down to the kitchen where, like the foyer and common room, was kept in a state of cleanliness that would have puzzled a more cautious homeowner, BJ slowly scouted the area, checking behind the corners of counters and under stray tarps until he found an oak framed door chained closed with rusted iron. 

“Hello, beautiful.” BJ Shuffled through his bag and grabbed a familiar rubber grip and in a heavy _snap,_ took bolt cutters to the thick chains. In a sweep of theatrics he whipped the doors open and cackled down into the lightless hideaway. A low whistle strolled easily into the deep valley of the cellar and producing a camping lantern from his bag, he quickly side-stepped the creaky staircase unwary of the crooked boards that threatened to cleave at his weight. 

This floor actually seemed to yield dust and webs which relieved BJ just a bit, as this was what old abandoned buildings are supposed to be like. Dark, decrepit, practically falling apart at one soft blow of wind. Whatever happened on the upper floors were too maintained, too lived in. Whatever squatter decided that this was their home had to wake up and smell the rat shit, BJ could actually call the cops and have them on his side this time, at least for home invasion. Unless the invader was hot and desperate enough to be down though, he could hold off on the operator bill if he could get some action, quick and easy. 

Reaching the final steps down, BJ surveyed around him. The licks of light from his lantern should have reached around a good amount out into the room, but all he could really see was about two or three feet out, not even illuminating the walls. Stepping back, he noticed how far away from the stairs he was, he really didn’t remember walking all that far in. BJ stepped forward toward them but didn’t see them get any closer, he tried again but each and every sure movement forward he swore the steps were getting farther away. Like a mirage, they were within sight but creeping back into the horizon until BJ had blinked enough to feel like that staircase was never truly there. That the light from the entrance was a smoky picture, leaning too far forward to look solid.

It felt like a trick on his eyes, he knew there had to be a staircase, he came down on one, he remembered the alternating creaks of the flat wooden boards. If he entered through one way, it was also the way to get out. Dammit, did he do coke today? 

Then, pulling him back from his thoughts he felt a shadow, something obstructing light from his eyes and he looked up. A silhouette of a lady, registered atop of the entrance of the cellar door. BJ could barely make out her features, the kitchen windows illuminating yellow sunlight on her face, but BJ immediately decided that she looked cute but stern. Her eyes leered at him before an impish smile perked at her lips. Then, without her moving, her hands gripped securely on the handle of what looked like an umbrella, the cellar doors snapped shut. The bellowing echo had BJ reel back to try and collect his bearings but his lantern then took its turn to flicker dim. The white light fluttering pale in the now pure darkness BJ found himself in. He shook the plastic thing and cursed.

“Damn, shitty, stolen camp gear. Don’t suburban mom’s have more money to spend on their lights!”

Shaking the light shouldn’t have done any good, but in a burst of spite, the lantern lit up in a blaze. It blinded BJ and burned his fingers that were touching the lamp. He dropped the thing, cursing more and feeling sober, something he really didn’t enjoy being. Though he still questioned it, as he found himself surrounded by six round and elaborate looking boxes. Carved in dark wood and painted with white flowers, breathing on the stillness of the surface. 

BJ tried to reach for his lantern, burning like a flare, but with barely an inch toward it BJ was almost burned again from how hot the light flared. Yet, it still couldn’t illuminate out into the rest of the cellar, just him, the hard concrete floor, and these six boxes. 

Immediately, BJ had an urge to destroy these delicate-looking things. Surrounding him in a circle, how dare they think they can trap him. But as he lifted his boot to smash one of them, he heard it starting to wind. Slowly, organic; like a hand was pushing a key in unhurried patience. And then a box lid popped up. A figure of a girl, porcelain and petite, sprung up beneath his boot, and he had to step back because the twinkling music that he heard play as the girl twirled was the same as the tune upstairs. So much closer and familiar, it felt like ages since he'd heard the tune but at the same time, he could hardly believe that he had forgotten it in the first place. Roundabout and easy, offkey at every other note. 

And then the next box opened, playing the same song but different. It was difficult to notice but the song didn’t match the other. The chimes were deeper, the tune going off key at a different pattern. And the porcelain girl looked different. Her hair was longer, her bangs were heavy and grew down in strands too unkempt for what seemed appropriate for a china doll's face. The dress was dirtier, stained with age and dark liquids. 

A third box opened and the girl looked paler, eyes no less striking in their dark, glassy sockets but they were very much staring at BJ. Straining to stare, as if she’d blink if she truly wanted to. Her little hands curved into her palms and her hair began brushing the ends of the box, slowly creeping out of her confines. 

The fourth box was behind BJ, smiling at him. She twirled in a way that her body would turn first, but her head would delay the smallest bit to continue staring, almost giggling at him. This one swayed just a bit and BJ could see her breathing, her carved and painted fingers twitching with the song that was getting louder and more cacophonous. 

The fifth box opened right beside him. It was closer, and the porcelain doll looked up and twirled at his feet. This one was gross. This one was rotting. This doll had blood and skin, she had a smile that stretched from ear to ear. She was breathing frantically and blinked a fleshy blink that stuck the lids together for too long and widened her glassy eyes like full marbles. The song was getting faster, the chiming, off key notes were becoming scratchy and pitched. The dolls stopped twirling.

They all looked at the sixth box.

There was no twirling girl. The music had ceased, instead it all stopped and the sixth box was playing a sweet melody. No note off key and each chime panged in clear echoing rings.

From the box, no bigger than a tissue box, a hand slithered up long and pale. It had long and dark nails, ragged from the tips. It bent from what BJ assumed was its elbow and dug into the concrete with its spindly hand, pushing itself out. Then came a shoulder, then came its hair. Long, pooling like ink from its head, hiding glassy eyes exactly like the dolls. This one had a dress that clung tightly around its thin body. Rancid, the gown seemed to melt on its ragged limbs, its next arm freeing itself from the box. It reached forward to BJ, opening a seam on its face that one would consider a mouth. Staring into it, BJ saw a twirling porcelain girl. Amongst metal revolving cylinders rolling together like clockwork, plucking at tuned teeth he watched the girl dance and sway to the melancholic song. 

BJ was entranced so much so that he didn’t know that he had leaned in to see in more closely, not until the little doll jumped at him. In a movement not at all human, lunging from her wiry spring, the dressed up little doll gripped BJ’s face with tiny sharp hands pressing firmly into his temples. He yelped in surprise and tried to step back, but with that movement, he only managed to successfully catapult his face forward. And suddenly he was inside this bigger doll’s mouth. The song was incessantly louder in here, convulsing and screaming into his ear. The wet echo of music reverberated past his ear into his stomach. The spinning metal wheels and tabs didn’t feel like flat copper anymore. In a long moment, he felt and heard the acute twangs of the instruments breaking and snapping into place and felt sharp pieces shift themselves into place at his torso, the music didn’t stop though. Instead, it echoed in dull and tuneless rhythm, scratching and tapping at what BJ could only assume to be teeth at this point. He was in a mouth. This was probably him being eaten. 

It only took one shift of this thing’s “teeth”, pushing BJ into its throat where he finally gripped some reality in the situation and he was in fact getting eaten, and he in fact, did not want to get eaten. And so, in a forceful wrench of his strength, he pushed himself out of its “mouth” falling back on his ass looking up at this monster. 

And then, something clicked. Looking up and finally feeling lucid enough to register the entire shape of the beast. The thing stalked forward, slow and what BJ could only describe its impatient shaking as it being annoyed. And, from what God BJ didn’t know that he prayed to, words fell absently from his throat the same way dominos fell into a volcano.

“I am lovin’ yer Other Mother vibe, doll. You uh, lookin’ for an ‘ _Other Dadd_ y’?”

And the thing stopped, paused. Not like how an animal would stop for rest or contemplation, but how a toy would stop completely when it ran out of batteries. And then the thing burst, like a balloon overfilled, the long and spindly thing popped in what looked like its hair flinging out of its seams, but then it looked definitely like moths spreading their wings to fly off. Rushing themselves out to the open entrance of the cellar, that was now properly lit by the sun flooding in from the high window to BJ’s left. 

But BJ barely felt any relief or comfort from that, instead he was graced by that girl again. Now able to determine her features from the new light, she looked angry and frustrated and so incredibly cute. So lost on his new hard-on, BJ didn’t realize that she was yelling at him. And with a twist of features, as she herself was realizing how BJ was taking in this entire situation, the woman let out a sigh.

“Oh great, one of these.”

Oh yeah, she was real hot when she was annoyed.

  
  



	2. Girl of my Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watch as this stoned man flirts with death and lives to tell the tale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for enjoying the fic, it's nice to flex these writing muscles

Easily, almost laughably, BJ scurried up the now revealed staircase, grabbing his lantern in a rush as it returned back to a state of normalcy. He heard the sound of clicking heels travel around the corner of the kitchen and then climb up the stairs in barely a second after his ascent. BJ sprinted in a way he promised PE teachers he would instead of hiding under the bleachers, ripping one out on a bong he made out of plastic water bottles the community’s youth pastors handed out during Easter Sunday.

Stomping up the stairs, he expected a longer game of cat and mouse but came face to face with the girl of his dreams. Hair black and shiny as an unmarked van, a petite frame that wasn’t the result of bulimia, and sparkly eyes that were looking straight at him. Not through him or past him on a curb when he was too wasted to walk properly and random suits decided to chuck pennies at him for a couple of good samaritan points. She was eye to eye with him, gorgeous and levitating four inches off the ground.

Levitating four inches off the ground?

Eyes roamed down her body, BJ took in her form like he did any potential lay, and while BJ’s eyes usually stopped at a girl’s legs or chest, it seemed she had those assets covered in layers of skirts that cut off at barely her ankle, and even then, high-heeled boots laced up far into her skirt hid any kind of skin she had to offer.

And of course, she was  _ levitating four inches off the ground _ .

“Well I’ve heard of bein’ head over heels for a gal but I didn’t know her heels could float overhead, know whadda’ mean?” He was such a charmer. The immediate recoil the girl made in midair had to be a sign that he had an effect similar to the one she was giving him. She didn’t spit at him or slap him or yell “ _ RAPE _ ” really loud at his approach. Good signs so far.

“Can  _ you _ see me?” Oh, she was so into him. Pop a collar and call him Rudolph Valentino, you are witnessing a smooth customer in action.

“Oh baby, I promise I can do more than jus’ see ya’” BJ combed thick fingers into his oily mass of hair, going for that lifeguard at the beach effect. “Gimme a mattress and an hour and I can make you see stars!” Stepping toward her, she continued to move back, probably leading him to her bedroom. 

“Y’know what? T’hell with that! I can rock yer world on the floor in half an hour!” BJ lunged forward hoping to catch her off guard enough to play tonsil-tennis and prove that he was really worth her time. But in the same movement as his lurch forward, she whipped sideways letting him trip on his own laces. But he didn’t fall forward, instead he felt his hoodie catch something at his back. Swiveling his head, he met the girl’s fiery gaze as her umbrella handle was hooked firmly on his hood.

“Aww sweetheart, y’do care!” Yellowing teeth stretched ear to ear as he let himself hang from her grip. 

“Usually, it’s the breathers who have questions, not me. So excuse my slight hesitation at your  _ advances _ ?” She had the sweetest voice, gentle and polite, no one was polite to him! This had to mean something. “But in what foul Hell did you crawl out from?” She emanated kindness. 

“It’s called my ma’s uterus, babe, and lemme tell ya’-- hell is a sweeter place than that wrinkly pit.” BJ was probably choking the way he was still suspended by his hoodie. “But enough about me, if I gotta choose the hell I crawl into, it’d be your uter-” His face kissed the floor, good thing it wasn’t from full height but still. 

BJ then felt cold air wisp by him and saw that she was retreating without a second glance back. 

“C’mon honey, don’t be like that!” Getting up to follow her, he was halted by the pointy end of her umbrella meeting the tip of his nose. “Hey, I’ll even let you do that kinky doll thing to me again.” 

The exasperated sigh that fell from her lips usually meant the girl was conceding, which also meant she’d let him get to second base,  _ nice _ !

“Please leave my house, sir.”  _ not nice _ !

“Uhm,  _ your _ house?”

“ _ Yes _ !” She hissed, her elaborately styled hair curling at its stray ends. “ _ My _ house! The house I am  _ haunting _ . The Spectre by the Creek? The Phantom on the Hill? The Gray Lady? Do you not read the paper? Have tales of horror suddenly been stricken from the imaginations of man?” 

“Hey, I haven’t read much of anything since I learned I could bribe the valedictorian with free weed if they wrote my book reports for the rest of senior year.” It was that, or they had the choice of giving BJ a blowjob each time they wanted a hit. Of course, that was an ultimatum to get BJ to pass English. He didn’t really want shitty, chapped-lipped, nerd head. Well, not that he’d complain either way, but it never happened and BJ, against all odds and bets, graduated high school. Thanks to drugs.

And also thanks to drugs, BJ might be hallucinating this floating, smoking hot, ghost girl. But goddammit this sexy hallucination was wrong!

“I’m sorry, babes but according to the banks, this house belongs to me.” Instead of a swift kick to the nuts that he was sure would be coming after his little show of defiance, BJ gawked at the way she laughed at him, all ladylike and feminine with an uncontrolled snort skipping past her breath in a way she didn’t expect. Damn her, even her dorky laugh made him hard. 

“Oh Mr.- uh…”

“Jus’ call me BJ.”

“Well, Mr.Beejay you may be disgusting beyond human belief-”

“Thanks.” She twitched a threatening smirk at him, apparently she really enjoyed or really detested his witty comebacks.

“But you certainly are a great  _ comedian _ . No one can own this house until the rubes downtown can find the deed. And Father hid that thing like he hid his waning love for his fami- _ Where did you get that _ ?”

BJ took his time unzipping his knapsack, gently pulling the cheap frame from his organized clutter. Nothing truly felt as satisfying as watching cocky bastards eat their own words. Well, until he could confirm this girlie was something more than his imagination fueling his horny desires, BJ was still game to see if satisfaction came in the form of leather boots and corsets.

However, the ghost reached out to grab the frame and BJ knew he made a fatal mistake. He put out before getting any. But when BJ thought to curse, the girl did before him and he heard an inhuman scream shake his guts the way heavy bass stereos did at raves. BJ opened eyes that he didn’t realize he had closed and lo and behold, the framed deed was still in his hands. But when he looked toward the ghost, her complexion seemed to grow paler, what he thought was a poofy purple gown, drooped heavily into a bluer hue. She was clutching her hands, unmarred but they released smoke from her palms like she was burnt.

“ _ Did you sign it _ ?” She didn’t look up from her hands but BJ could tell she was scraping out words from behind clenched teeth.

“Well, yeah duh. I wanted the house.” BJ thought to enable more venom from her, the way her sparky personality seemed to dim was bumming him out. And in a similar thought that made him regret snorting coke from an alley hooker’s asscrack, BJ watched this tiny girl burst into rage. Red and feral, BJ thought he felt the clarity to run but it didn’t look like she was angry at him.

“THAT UNFORGIVING SON OF A BITCH! HE COULDN’T STOP MAKING MY LIFE A LIVING HELL AND NOW HE HAS TO MAKE MY DEATH ONE TOO!” Her fury was scalding, and BJ had the fleeting thought that only suicidal teens and horny college frat boys could have at that one specific moment.

“Daddy issues, huh? Me too! It looks like we hav’ a lot in common, huh toots!” 

Her rage seemed to douse itself after, once again, noticing him and BJ took that as a win. Deflating back into her poofy, purple skirt, BJ watched her take a surveying look at him and BJ thought best to preen under her gaze. 

“You’re not going to leave this house are you?”

“Short of an eviction notice,  _ no _ . ‘Specially seeing as I’m the landlord.” Taking a contemplative step around him, she looked suspicious at best, but now, not as keyed up to throw him out.

“Do you want to exorcise me?”

“Well, yeah in a sense. Lady's choice of course but I’m a big fan of dancing, ya’ ever heard of the  _ horizontal mambo _ ? I am a pro at it and am happy to teach you a couple moves.” She smiled, she looked confused but she smiled!  _ Oh _ , things have never looked up so fast.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Long nails tapped absently at her lips and BJ took full liberty in watching how soft they were when her finger padded the skin. “What are you doing here?”

“You a cop?” She furrowed her eyebrows and he relished in the sincere look of curiosity she gave him. “Then it’s none a’ your business, beautiful.” 

She rolled her eyes, breathing out a sound of annoyance. “I mean are you going to ruin my-” catching herself, she gave BJ a sharp glare. BJ was absolutely going to correct her like an asshole, that was just a fact. “Do you have plans to redecorate, Mr. Beejay?”

He wasn’t going to tell her how he wanted to sell her armchair, definitely not.

“This place came cheap and fully furnished, like hell I wanna spend a dime I don’t have to.”

She gave an approving nod and held her hand out as if to give him something. And like any horny man faced with the object of his desires, he put his hand out like a child asking for a cookie. A heavy metal key attached to an ornate beetle keychain dropped into his hand. 

“You can take the guest room down there, third door to your left. The bathroom is across the hall. Don’t change or move anything. Whatever you eat, you have to get yourself. I clean this place for Mother, I am no maid. And I suppose, whatever you want to do in the cellar you can, we don’t really use it much.” 

“Hey wait up a little, why am I not using the main bedroom. I own the house!” BJ insisted but pocketed the room key anyway.

“That room is for Mother. She will be returning  _ shortly _ .”

Oh great, a maternal figure. Just what BJ needed after escaping his own maternal issues. And it was the mom of the ghost girl he wanted to bone. Why the hell does his drug-induced hallucination have to have such an elaborate story line.

“Gah! Fine, whatever! Once this acid trip drops I don’t gotta worry about this anyway. Coulda’ at least give me a courtesy handjob before ya’ disappear.” Only the polite fucking thing to do, really.

Yet, the girl blinked slow and contemplative, actually recognizing the words being said from his mouth. And then a mirthful smile graced her lips, mischievous and knowing. It was so  _ unfair _ how beautiful she was! Couldn’t his imagination give him an image of one of his shitty exes instead of this gloriously sculpted wet dream.

“Do you think...I am an  _ illusion _ Mr. Beejay?” And before he could answer with one of his smarmy remarks, a bubbly laugh erupted from her throat and she was trapped in a fit of giggles, her dress blinking a soft yellow colour as her cheeks glowed like daffodils. She eventually came down from her joyous outburst, quite literally, and placed her heels gently on the ground.

No longer floating, she stood a good couple inches below him. 

“The late afternoon is turning to evening Mr. Beejay. I’ve no knowledge of your profession or the schedule it provides but I must turn in for the night, it seems I must re-read some important documents I have in my possession. I skim uninteresting bits you see, a fault of mine, but now I must dedicate myself to reading every word with the attention of a scholar. Please, keep faith to this small truce I have constructed as I do not gift second chances to people anymore, not to friends and especially not to strangers. Shall you need me, urge yourself to not. I am at no one's beck and call. And, as I surmise from your vacant staring, should this be an illusion of your own making...” a grin split on her face and she held back a girlish snort. “Then please, remember this mirage’s name to be Ms. Lydia Deetz. Bon soir, monsieur.” 

And with no other word said, Lydia evaporated like mist and BJ had to deal with having a strange key in his pocket that he probably stumbled onto while he was tripping balls in the cellar, and the haunting image of the most beautiful girl in the world that he could jack it to when he finally found his bed down the hall.


	3. Neighborhood Watch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BJ meets his neighbors and his hallucination!

BJ wasn’t really a morning person. Early mornings that melded from night to day in a surreal blend, sure! But waking up to a sun barely in the sky and rising from the east? That doesn’t happen to BJ, he quit seven AM wakeup calls since leaving high school for a busted 2011 Honda Civic and a dame named Bethany. 

BJ had a decidedly confusing day yesterday. He almost convinced himself that Lydia was real, and she was a ghost haunting this weirdly clean house. But BJ knew better, he was smarter than that. Obviously, someone slipped phencyclidine onto the edibles, sprinkled it on like powdered sugar.  _ Man _ , those other guys must be losing their minds.

Suckers.

But obviously it was Angel Dust. That was the only explanation for seeing a literal angel in this house, that’s the only reason why he could vividly remember how sweet her laugh was, how gorgeous the dark colours of her eyes were, or how absolutely adorable she was in three-inch heels but still couldn’t reach his eye-level without floating up. 

Dammit! BJ was supposed to forget the hot hallucination! Why was he so hung up on her? She wasn’t real, she was as fake as the implants Bethany had that popped when he slammed the brakes running eighty in a thirty zone.

“Lydia...” BJ groaned, the name a little too familiar on his tongue, remembering how he called out to her when he was alone with his right hand.

His back snapped several places as he snuggled back into the bed. Guest room? It was more like a king’s room. A gigantic bed with feather-stuffed pillows, clean sheets, well some parts of it were, and the mattress was bouncy and soft. The floor was a plush green carpet BJ could have also easily slept on instead. There was a wardrobe and drawers, more storage space than he ever had in any shit-stained apartment he squatted in before. A desk beside a filled bookshelf sat beside a full length mirror, clean and crystal; BJ never looked so good! Or he’s never seen himself so clearly on a surface before, if he were to admit it plainly. But he didn’t admit to anything, not to the cops, juries, or the girls who ask if he’s clean so BJ looked like Cary Goddamned Grant.

This room was everything he wanted and more, which meant the Master Bedroom was probably chocked full of goodies he had to get his hands on. And since he was sober- _ ish _ for the most part, he could mosey right into his rightful abode without sexy ghosts telling him off.

Hmm, maybe he was a little bit  _ too _ sober; nothing a little _Purple Princess_ couldn’t fix. A gorgeous, dark-eyed, fiery little sprite of a prin-

Where’s his Freddy Krueger lighter? Ripping a yellowing piece of paper from the antique writing desk, BJ lit his first joint of the day. And then with his other hand took his first piss of the day in the most immaculate bathroom he had ever seen in his life, everything was all sparkling. Maybe he conjured a ghost up in his head because it wasn’t humanly possible to get every little detail so picturesque. Imagining an obsessive Victorian ghost lady sweeping the floors in barely a flick of her wrist seemed more realistic than somebody scrubbing every nook and cranny of these detailed house ornaments.

Seriously, fresh towels? Soap with no mold? A spotless porcelain tub connected to polished metal pipes? The amount of care put into making sure every curve and crook was perfect was almost scary. At least the cellar had a couple of cobwebs to its name.

Speaking of, now that he had access to the rightfully unmanaged room, BJ could finally open shop. All he had to do was collect his supplies from the trunk and greet the nice-looking couple at the door.

“Wait, what the fuck?”

BJ quickly dove beneath the window outlooking the front porch. He thought this place was far enough from the little village down the hill that nobody would bother him, who the hell were these freaks?

Taking a practiced peek from behind the glass, careful to not be spotted, BJ came up with a couple of firm opinions about the two. They were middle-class, they were cleancut from the suburbs, and they were narcs.

Narcs with gifts, apparently. Another gander out told him they were visiting a friend. A neighborhood welcome wagon then? Like that automatic event that happens in the Sims that you can’t quit or else it gives your Sim a real pissy mood. Did they bring crappy fruitcakes? 

A firm knock on the door snapped BJ out of his stupor and he pressed himself further into the wall, taking a slow drag from his joint. Just let these vanilla-looking plain folks move along. Once they confirm that nobody’s here, BJ could finally get on with his day. 

“Why’s there a car out front, Adam?”

_ Shit! _

“She must’ve scared them so bad that they ran for the hills, literally.”

“ _ Adam! _ ” From their self-satisfied laughs, BJ gagged knowing exactly what kind of boring, paint-watching, types they were. But surely enough, he was more curious about the third party they were referring to. A third party that liked to scare people away from her cushy house on the hill, how sexily familiar.

“Should we leave them on the porch? She might be busy.”  _ Yes! _

“Nonsense, Barb!”  _ No! _ “We haven’t seen her since we came back from Jamaica last week. Well, you know... see o _ f  _ her.” Can these assholes be less vague about this girl they think that they may or may not have seen? Bring up more relevant info or _ leave _ ! That, or have sex on the porch; that would be less insufferable than teasing him with validation.

“Oh, I hope Lydia likes gratin!-”

_ “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!” _

The couple screamed bloody murder as the door flung open like a paperback book. BJ would have screamed too if not for his surprise of watching the metal locks undo themselves in quick succession, like the door decided to do all the work for him.

He practically jumped at Lydia’s name coming out of a real person’s voice, and was ready to hassle and annoy the couple for more details like a T.G.I. Fridays waiter for tips. But he was revealed before his cue and BJ had to wonder if the conspiring giggles he heard over his shoulder was more than paranoia negging him along.

“Who are  _ you? _ ”

“The  _ gratin! _ ”

Taking full sight of his visitors, BJ watched as the man named Adam fussed over the shattered remains of their gratin and the woman called Barb was staring at him, face flushed of colour, her oven mitted hands frozen in a casserole-holding position. 

Doing the only thing he could do, BJ took another swift drag of his roach, stomped it out with spite on the floor, and whipped out his award-winning smile.

“Neighbors! Mi casa es su casa an’ all that mumbo jumbo. But lemme show you inside, c’mon no need to cry over spilled potatoes, nobody really likes yer cooking anyway, right, Barb?” BJ strongarmed the bumbling couple into the house laughing like they’ve been friends for years.

They seemed to be at a loss for words besides a couple of sputtering yelps as he pushed them past the threshold of the door. But BJ took their shell-shocked stumbling as a perfect opportunity to lock a couple of the deadbolts shut. 

Once BJ was just about done flicking a lock into place, he heard them start to speak in coherent words.

“Uh, sorry sir, we didn’t know anybody was living here. You see this house has been abandoned for quite a while so we didn’t -- uh…” Adam was taking the lead as the lady was giving him a blinky sort of stink-eye. It looked like they weren’t too familiar with being intimidating. 

“Aww, it’s no problem I really just moved in yesterday!” BJ jested, moving the conversation along. “Wh-Why dontcha’ take a seat and get comfy!” Gripping the tarp covering what he thought was a couch, he snapped his arm to be proven wrong. Instead he revealed a glass display of pinned-up, dead insects making Barb and Adam release sounds of disgust.

“Oh uh, not that one. Probably this one or-” Fumbling and peeking beneath tarp after tarp, the sound of sheets falling unceremoniously across the room caught all of their attention and it revealed an entire sitting area surrounding a wooden upright piano. “There we go, let’s go let’s go; standing causes cancer and all that!” BJ urged, practically shoving the couple towards the couch.

BJ was spreading it on, thick. Did he know that they saw his car out front or that they knocked on a door expecting an answer with gifts in hand? Of course, but he didn’t have to let them know that he knew. Because  _ they _ knew Lydia. And he was ready to know everything he could about his hot new roommate the only way people learn anything about each other. By talking behind their back. 

Well, actually it looked like Lydia was observing this whole visit so it wasn’t really being sneaky, BJ could argue that this was the most open communication he ever had with any kind of girlfriend, so why not humour her by introducing himself to her friends? Were these the type of people Lydia liked? No way, she enjoyed his presence way too much to prefer this Less-Than-Odd Couple.

Yeah, it even looked like that self-revealing sitting area shut the two up real quick so whatever they thought Lydia was to them, had to be somewhat of a delusion on their part. Poor things. Must be hard to be in a one-sided relationship. However, while BJ usually liked dumbstruck audiences, it wasn’t really a good start to get information on his hot new beau.

Firmly molding his ass into the seat cushions of a very dignified-looking armchair -- maybe he shouldn’t sell it, thing was too damn comfy -- BJ shook his leg while watching how uncomfortable the two were, sitting and fidgeting on a matching couch beside him. Maybe he should try something simple.

“Name’s BJ. Nice to meetcha’.” Cutting the tension with a hand offered in friendship, BJ felt the hand of the woman touch his palm and his impulse control took a cliff-side jump into the Riviera. He pulled her toward him and slammed a sloppy kiss on her closed and panicked mouth.

“Excuse me, that’s my wife!” Adam pulled her back as BJ cackled in response, they were just too easy, he couldn’t help it, god dammit, he couldn’t help it!

“You really know how to pick ‘em, dontcha’?” BJ fell back into his chair, watching them gripe and gasp at him. “Hey, is this thing solid? Or d’ya think I gotta chance ‘ere?”

“I am sorry, sir but we are  _ leaving _ . Let’s go Barbara.” Adam spat out while simultaneously guiding an enraged wife by her back to the door.

“Yeah, yer right. Lydia’s more my type anyway!” BJ flung back absent-mindedly feeling much better just jeering at them than trying the whole friendly neighbor bit. Last time he was a  _ good friend _ caused him a couple months in juvenile detention and a few of his back teeth.

“ _ Excuse me _ ?” It looked like Barbara was about ready to fight. “You stay away from her you perverted little prick! She is-wait, why hasn’t she scared you off yet?” Big bouncy curls seemed to pause in midair, among other big and bouncy things, and BJ watched the couple fight to be angry, confused, and mostly angry, definitely mostly angry.

“And why do you know her?” Adam was clutching his wife’s arms either comforting her or holding her back from starting a brawl. 

“Hah! Know ‘er?” BJ howled, slapping his knee and thinking it was a good time to light some good ‘ol fashioned tobacco. He always stashed it away in his hoodie pocket but never seemed to remember it at opportune times. This seemed appropriate though, how else do you recall fond memories to new friends? “How do ya’ ignore someone who chucks glass-eyed dolls atcha’ before asking you out for dinner first?”

“She did the doll thing.”

“The doll thing’s always scary.”

“But then she up an’ leaves before the encore? I was ready to get weird on the cellar floor but she had to take her sexy little Victorian ass and choke-hold umbrella-”

“Umbrella?”

“Choke-hold?”

“- and keep ‘ol BJ high and dry. But the cutie left me a room seeing as she can’t actually throw me out like the schmucks she’s apparently already heaved outta’ here, right?” BJ fiddled with his lit cigarette. “Aww, wait a minute! Does ‘zat mean they’ll be actual consequences tryin’ to take the Master Bedroom?” A familiar-looking music box opened up on the piano revealing a twirling doll and pitchy music and BJ had to take that as a yes. “Dammit, shoulda’ stayed a drug-induced wet dream…” And BJ swore that twirling porcelain doll giggled.

“Did you see her Mr.- uh.. Is BJ short for anything?” 

“No.” BJ cut Adam off but took a long drag before answering his other question. “I’m guessing Lydia’s not exactly a social butterfly?” After a few whispers and bumbling responses from their side, it looked like they decided to look opposing by standing up straight and crossing their arms. Which really just touched on BJ’s flight or fight response to flash mobs.

“What does she look like?” 

“Hot, black hair, dark eyes, hot, poofy purple dress and leather boots, hot, a lil’ pale, petite, a real shorty, hot, and uhm…” BJ flicked some ash at them, chuckling when their wall of confidence flinched back,“Did I mention she looked like a walking, talking pinup model?”

“ _ Yes. _ ” Barbara hissed.

“So did I get anything right or does it mean rat shit seeing as you two-” BJ leaned forward, resting his chin on his fingers as his elbows sat on his knees. “Can only  _ ‘see of her’. _ ”

“You rat bastard! Stay away from her, she is a lonely little girl waiting on a mother who might neve-”

“Barbara!” 

Quickly shoving a fist into her mouth, Barbara squeezed Adam’s outstretched hand and tried to calm down, not even wanting to look at BJ. But as the couple cradled together in silence the distinct sound of locks unclicking from their holds alerted all three of them and they watched the front door open to the already running engine of a Dodge Grand Caravan. A pretty new-looking one if BJ had to take a guess.

“Lydia,” Barbara stepped forward talking into the ceiling like a lunatic. “I didn’t mean it I-” The van’s horn deafened whatever argument Barbara had to offer and the door only opened wider. 

And with defeated sighs, the white-collar couple began to shuffle out of the house. But before BJ could watch them walk-off for good, a shiny item left on a side table caught their attention. Adam quickly grabbed it and they both sighed in relief. Then before BJ could ask them what crawled up their asses they looked back at him in what could only be called, distaste and worry, and then left with no other words spoken. 

“So, I’m guessing Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dickhead are your close and personal friend group?” BJ spoke out into the open as he observed the two saddle up into their shiny gray van.

“The Maitlands mean well, but they aren’t exactly the most engaging sort when it comes to conversation or life.” Lydia appeared beside him looking out to the Maitlands when they finally decided to drive their car down the hill. “I like them well enough, however.”

BJ, now knowing that this phantom was more real than a call girl’s promise of meeting up in exchange for his social security number and the back three digits of his Master card, took a lingering look at her. 

“Y’know, you are pretty young-lookin’ but not exactly ‘little girl’ worthy.” 

“I showed Barbara and Adam some old photos of me when I was alive. I had most of my pictures taken when I was eight or thirteen, and the pictures I do have where I look more like myself hold too many hardships within them, so I try to avoid those when I can. So I predict those images set a sort of picture in their mind’s eye of me when they could use nothing else.” Lydia snapped a sharp look to BJ. “However, I am much older than all of you combined, so I would not fret over the frivolities of mortal age. I stopped worrying about such things decades ago, and found relief in many an embrace of the recently deceased.”

The implication that Lydia was an experienced partner should have elated BJ but only served to bubble a cauldron of jealousy in his gut.

“Yeah, well have you ever made it with a live guy? It’ll probably be way better than some eternally flaccid stiff.” BJ smirked, hoping to choke these feelings down by being raunchy and annoying.

“Are you sure you can consider yourself a part of the living? You woke up and consumed two cigarettes like those were your planned meals of the day?” Lydia snickered and BJ finally ashed out his breakfast cigarette.

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til ya try it, that’s what I always say.” BJ quipped but caught something else that she said. “You’ve been watchin’ me, babe?”

“I have a guest who will be staying with me for some time, I presume, as I can not make you run out like the rest of the masses. So excuse me for indulging in some curiosities. However, turning back to your unhealthy diet of smoke and ash, please do yourself a favour and eat some actual food.” The strong scent of steaming potatoes and cheese invaded BJ’s mouth and he felt his stomach gurgle almost violently. The Maitland’s shattered gratin was whole again! The ceramic casserole dish held the dish together like it was never smashed and spilled over the front porch.

“I thought you weren’t going to be my maid…” BJ stalked toward the coffee table where the gratin laid elegantly with a spoon plunged deliciously in the dish. 

“I am not, but I’m also not going to be your mortician or your guide to being recently deceased. Some other poor imbecile does that. So please, entertain a better way to survive in this house or find a small hole outside the property to start courting Death.” BJ was barely listening as he stuffed serving spoon-fulls of cheesy soft potatoes into his cheeks. But he could still catch the politely disgusted but amused face of Lydia watching him eat.

“Wan’ shum!” BJ offered and to his surprise, Lydia conjured a delicate-looking fork from her sleeve and took a ladylike portion into her mouth, chewing slowly and really tasting the food. 

“Hmm, Barbara was right,” Lydia struck her fork down into the dish again. “I  _ do _ like gratin.” She took her next bite into the potatoes and what yielded from it were thousands of spiders releasing from the cheese, like eggs were suddenly hatching from its confines. And Lydia continued to chew and stare with a mischievous delight as the spiders climbed up and down her cheeks and lips and open eyes. 

And while BJ could see and feel the arachnids crawling in his peripheral vision, he was too hypnotized by Lydia’s gorgeous smile beneath the horde of little black bugs scattering every which way on the both of them. 

He just didn’t care if he was chewing spiders, or roaches, or worms. 

BJ was having fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is beginning to be little too fun.


End file.
